19 September 2013

my shirt

it may be dirty
with holes worn through
a little too big
but it covers me
when I want to hide
there is room in here
I pull it over my head
close my eyes
I grow tired of seeing
the same nothing
day after day
I grow weary
of trying to 
sleep the same hunger 
screaming night after night

covered with mud
tattered and worn
but mine
all I can call my own
can you see me
in here
behind the rags
I live and hurt and wonder
about the God I've heard of
and the people who help
in His name

will they find me?

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